


Sail A Steady Ship Through The Tempest

by bantha fodder (banthafodder)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Incest, Mild Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banthafodder/pseuds/bantha%20fodder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> “Say it.” Her voice is deep, and brutal. It cracks on the final syllable, and he wants to do everything she ever tells him to do. “The only one who can hurt you is me.” </i> She's come to find balance in the Force, and she'll find it - and drag him with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sail A Steady Ship Through The Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of fucking in this, and maybe some self-determination.
> 
> With thanks to an unstoppable army of Lizzens

The first time she pushes him up against a wall, it’s a surprise. They had been sparring, and suddenly - 

their sabres are buzzing where they meet, burning a hole into the floor, and her chest is flush against his. She’s breathing heavily, and it’s nothing like what he expects when she lunges forward, presses her mouth to his mouth and her mind to his mind. He lets her; he knows sex is a vulnerability, to be exploited and drawn from just like any other emotion, but he doesn’t continue the fight in the obvious way. 

He lets her in, her mind sinking into his and her breath cloying at the back of his throat. When she scratches her nails at his neck where her hand is holding him into place, it is with a newness, an intensity, that sits unfamiliar in his gut. 

Their sabres drop to the floor, and he lets her grip his hair, lets her pull his head back and expose his neck. She bites his lip as she kisses him. 

She projects to him, pushes images into his mind and he’s not sure she realises - she would take him, here, on the training room floor, if they were not fully garbed, and she consumes what she can of him instead, and he lets her, he gives himself to her. 

And then she drops him; steps back from him, calls her lightsabre to her hand and tilts her head. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he feels dizzy from need. He considers - he wants to fuck her, wants to consume her, wants to be consumed; but his blind desire flickers inside him like a flame that he can draw from, and he knows that this, like everything else, is a test of the power between them. He grins at her; calls his lightsabre and ignites it with the desire curling low in his gut and the taste of his blood on his tongue. 

She raises her lightsabre, and the sound of their weapons hissing as they meet rings like music on the wind; music borne by the Force.

**

She followed him over galaxies when she knew she was ready to take what she wanted, and he wasn't difficult to find. She could feel his frustration each time she pushed towards him. It was a thing he didn't care to control. He can barely restrain himself at the best of times, and he hates surprises. It’s why she’d surprised him. Now he’s a pillar of frustration and heat and want and need, and it makes the desire rise in her belly. She sits with it, sometimes - a holdover from her training with her father, his uncle - because one thing she has learnt is that to sit calmly with a thing, to sit with a thing held close to her heart, can enhance what she draws from a thing. There’s a power in that, a power that makes her stronger than Master Snoke truly would like, but what he doesn’t know - 

Well. There’s nothing new in keeping secrets from one’s Master. And Snoke is not a Skywalker. There are things about the Force that he can never know. To be Skywalker is to be of the Force, and Snoke will never. 

Kylo is ready for her the second time. Their lightsabres have blurred together, buzzing harshly, and she lifts her free hand to his throat as she pushes him against the wall. He reaches first, this time, grasps as she crushes her lips to his, pushes her mind into his, presses her hand against his neck. His free hand wraps around the fabric of her shirt and he pulls her closer, and she feels him touch the desire deep within, ignite a flame that was waiting for her to blow upon it. 

She waves a hand to lock the doors to the training room and another to loosen the straps upon his uniform. 

She breathes against his skin, and he shivers.

She doesn’t say I will have you; he doesn’t say I know; these things are given, and her mind is within his and he has sunk deep into her, cock into her cunt and her mind wrapped around his, and when they breathe it is a battle of who deserves the oxygen the most. 

She rides him on the floor of the training room, rides him until she orgasms and reaches for a well of power she has not previously known. Rides him until he comes, and her hand stays upon his throat the entire time, the shape of the Force forming clearer behind her eyes than it ever has before, the shape of him heavy and bright in the flow of it.

When she shakes her head and shifts her weight to stand, he looks at the crescents left by his nails, gouged into the skin at her hips. He blinks when she draws her pants up; she doesn’t use the Force to heal the marks, choosing instead to brush her hand over them and hide them with fabric instead. They will heal in a few days, unless she has him make them again. 

He does her the favour of not healing the bruising she has left across his throat, and she hums as she passes him; snaps her teeth against his jaw as she unlocks the doors of the training room. 

She feels a buzz as he smirks back at her; sees the glow he leaves in the Force beside her. “Cousin,” he says, and gestures her first out of the room like the faux-gentleman shit heap he is. 

She's giddy with how clearly she can see him.

**

Hux embarrasses him in front of a platoon of Stormtroopers; his ridiculous, ill-trained, Force-blind slave children, and it angers him. He yells, and Hux doesn’t stop smirking. Rey tilts her head past his, her grin dawning on her face like the brightest, most dangerous of suns, and Hux flinches. 

Phasma hustles Hux away shortly after, and Kylo strides off. There are no Stormtroopers to get in his way, and his frustration, veering wildly between self-recrimination and external blame, will not dissipate. Not without satiation. 

He ignites his lightsabre and slashes at the wall. She is more feared than he is and it will never not gall him. She laughs; watches him as electronics spark and he yells his rage. He could turn and slash at her; could turn and fight the one who undermines him in front of Hux’s wretched, useless Stormtroopers, undermines him in front of Hux’s wretched, dreadful, troglodytic self. 

He doesn’t. Instead he lets her watch his anger; lets her watch him as he yells and screams, until he drops his lightsabre and she jumps off the console from which she has been sitting. She stalks him across the room, runs her fingers through his hair and pulls. She pulls at him until he is on his knees and she watches him, the pain sparking through the back of his skull. She pushes gently at his mind, pushes gently until the push becomes a wall, becomes a weapon, becomes the Force invasion of his mind. 

She smirks at him; removes her shirt.

He remains kneeling; uses the Force to push her against the wall. She gasps as her bare back is scratched by the electronics he’s massacred. He drops his hands to her waistband and pulls the fabric from her belly; barely gives her time to bare her cunt before he's dropping his head to taste her. He fucks her slow, pauses when her breath speeds up and speeds up when her pulse begins to slow.

She crests but doesn't peak, and every time he leaves her hanging she pulls his hair a little harder. He's three fingers and a tongue deep in her when she comes, when he lets her come, he thinks, blearily, viciously, and her thighs are covered in scratches and his scalp aches. She shudders and he feels the blood in her thighs; thinks about releasing some of that blood and denying her for longer. He feels the push of her mind at that last; knows he'll be punished for the whole package later.

And he is, in a way. “Don’t move,” she says, after she has pushed him to the ground. She rides him long and slow, and he holds his body still, moving only to breathe. She ventures her mind to him every now and then, checks his will is still hers - 

and it is. She knows it is. She barely has to exert her will upon him when he is beneath her. He will do anything she cares to think. 

He sees fireworks behind his eyes when she finally lets him move. 

**

Out in the snow, they practice their form work. They have both had the same Master, and they know the same forms. In these, as with everything else, they battle over who will lead, and who will win. 

She is confident, as always, that she’ll win; it’s this confidence that lets him win, instead. 

She’ll wrestle it back from him later, and he will fucking love it. 

The joy flutters in her chest. She draws on it, like she draws on all of her emotions; how can this be wrong - how can this be the Dark Side - when she’s so satisfied, so strong and in tune with her body and his? 

She completes the form and turns on him, drawing her lightsabre. His is already ignited, and he brings it to bear against hers. 

She laughs, and distracts him with a snowball from behind. As his mind clouds over with cold and confusion and anger, she leaps upon him, and he slashes using nothing but the Force and the satisfaction thrumming through his veins, and hers. She feels his mind push against hers, and she pushes back. 

She laughs again, and their lightsabres melt the snow. 

**

They have both had the same Master, hated though he is. And she left Kylo for him, once; left him twice, three times, each time returning to the Republic that had spawned him and forsaken him. 

He catches glimpses; sometimes she drops them, and sometimes he wrenches them from her, in those moments when he’s feeling weak, when he sees his father’s face falling or his mother crying and he thinks, I could never - 

He tests himself with the glimpses of her life before she came to him the last time, and he wouldn’t let her go. 

“This is where I need to be,” she had said, the last time, and he hadn’t dared to question it in case she turned around and left him again. 

Fear is a source of power just like any other. They felled an outpost together that day, and he hadn't questioned it, or her.

He had turned to her instead. He had held himself still until she pushed tendrils of her will towards him, and then he had allowed himself to hold out his hand. She hadn't taken it; she’d wrapped her hand around his wrist instead, and he'd felt the warmth of her fingers and her nails pressing into his pressure points, and he'd wondered what sort of new weakness this was.

**

There is a balance she finds out here in this ridiculous, over-the-top base. There is an ease in which she can think, and practice, and wait.

Snoke looms over them, but he never appears, and Luke is a distant irritation, and nothing else comes close.

Nothing but Kylo, and he is trying, at least.

She presses his body against the wall of his quarters, leaves him gasping desperately as she comes. Her sweat drops onto his bare skin, and she laughs as he squirms away; he can't go far, not with him still inside her, and she starts again.

“I wonder if this is why some cultures believe in sex magic,” she says. 

“Go on, then.” Her bare back aches from where he's flipped her around and has pushed her; she knows she'll be healing welts later, a satisfaction in controlling the Force through her body.

She focuses on the Force as he towers above her, his hair angling into his face. She pushes tendrils outwards; wraps around him and her and this base and their family line, and she might not be about to do magic but she could definitely, definitely crush them all to nothingness in that moment.

She releases it all as she comes, releases it all except for him. She grasps him tighter, his throat under her hand and his lungs under the Force, and when she finally lets go he's gasping for breath and desperate to be buried by her.

She kisses his throat, and after, before he hides it away, the inside of his wrist.

**

He doesn't heal his scars; not with Bacta, and not with the Force.

When he fights, sometimes the scars pull. He can scratch at them, and the knowledge that they're there can be a mild focus for him. When he needs a greater focus, he breaks open an unhealed wound; sometimes, the knowledge that he has wounds that will never truly heal is all that he needs to get him through.

They're chasing a rumour through three star systems. She's restless, and he can't concentrate when all he can feel is her frustration and boredom from where she pushes it onto him, so he takes this rumour and runs with it, a suggestion of a pirate outpost with souvenirs of their grandmother. She was a queen, and a Senator; her reach was wide and the rumours could be true.

And she knew their grandfather the best of anyone, and Kylo can't be expected to let that slide.

He slides into the pilot seat, and hasn't quite slid home before the sense of her is around his shoulders and he's thrown across the cockpit. “It's my ship!” he protests.

She laughs from the pilot seat.

They chase rumours of Queen Amidala; of Senator Padme; of grandmother. On the eighth day they land on a dust bowl in the Outer Rim and are ambushed by what he'd swear were Nightsisters, if he didn't know better.

He takes a lightsabre to the thigh and a blaster wound to the foot, but they also find a shrine dedicated to Padme and half a script about some great love affair thwarted by Jedi, or maybe about the Jedi (maybe Kenobi’s involved?), so it's totally satisfactory, and he watches Rey heal her own wounds whilst satisfaction at their outcome and rage at her wounds sits in his belly.

He pokes at his wound when she's in the cockpit checking coordinates, and suddenly she's there, surrounding him with the Force and crowding him into the bunk.

“What is this?” she hisses, like she wasn't right there when he was injured, and he shakes his head.

“Evidence,” he says, and gasps when she pushes him back into the bunk and pulls at his pants, revealing the cauterised wound on his thigh.

“Why won't you heal it?” She touches her hand to the wound. He gasps again.

“It isn't necessary.”

She holds him there; the Force to keep him still and the Force to heal his wounds, and when she's done, she clambers on top of him and grabs the hair at the back of his head, digs her nails in and pulls.

“The only being in the galaxy who can injure you is me,” she whispers, her breath hot against his neck before she sinks her teeth into the skin beneath his ear. The pain shoots straight down him, from his ear straight to his groin and she palms his cock; takes him in hand and draws blood from his neck with her teeth.

“Say it.” Her voice is deep, and brutal. It cracks on the final syllable, and he wants to do everything she ever tells him to do. “The only one who can hurt you is me.”

“The only being who can injure me-” he arches his back as she scrapes her nails on the underside of his shaft, and he just - will she fuck him? Please, stars, please - “is you.”

When he comes he sees nothing but her glow in the Force, taut and fierce and powerful above him.

**

She feels a sharpness through the Force at his delight when he sends a platoon of Hux’s stormtroopers to their deaths. She rolls her eyes and reaches for him; finds him fifteen decks down and leaves him to it. Death can be useful, but there's no need to be wasteful; a habit he never needed to learn in his privileged, princely childhood.

Another thing to blame Han Solo for, she thinks deliberately, and Kylo he pushes back against her in a mix of anguish, guilt and pleasure.

She pokes at it again, at him, and he throws a second platoon into the mission, but he doesn't destroy any electronics, and she marks it a success. Pride in his toys, or something.

She goes about her business. Her business is doing her forms in places where Phasma wishes she wouldn't go but can't ban her from entering. Phasma is suspicious of Rey’s motives, which is healthy, and also annoying because Rey should have a stronger hold over Phasma by now.

Anyway. She's going through her forms and delighting in causing Phasma annoyance, and she pushes her awareness of Kylo to a corner of her mind. So it's only with a vague anticipation that she feels him drawing closer, until finally he's near.

She looks up as he stalks down the hall, controlled and predatory. She reaches out for the stormtroopers he doomed after getting out of bed; they're packed like munitions on carriers and Hux is feeling mutinous.

“I'm going with them,” he says, and she tugs him the final two metres with tendrils of the Force.

“They can die without you,” she breathes, her lips to his.

He rolls his eyes. “I won't die just because they do,” he says. She wriggles her fingers under his coat, starts pulling at his layers until he releases them and lets her.

She takes him, as she always does, in this random hallway on this new model Star Destroyer. She lays him out on the floor and takes him apart with her hands and her mouth and the Force, and she would swallow him whole if she thought it would help, if it would get them out safe and ready.

She presses her hands upon the scars he has never healed and kisses every single one.

“You will care for your own well-being,” she says, as he shudders underneath him. “You can't bring balance to the Force if you're dead.”

“Yes,” he breathes; repeats the word over and over into her mouth as she comes.

If she blinks away tears when she helps him dress, well, she supposes she still has things to learn.

**

He loses four Stormtroopers; gains the information he needs and some information he didn't know he wanted. He also gains a sprained ankle.

He feels a mild annoyance when the Stormtroopers die, and a pleasure at only a sprained ankle, and satisfaction at a job well done, and he thinks, oh. This is what it means to truly make one’s own purpose, to guide one’s actions free of the shackles that have caught before.

He thinks, yes.

He presses his mind against hers; feels echoes of this disaster they've inherited from their grandfather and echoes of this clusterfuck of a political system that dictates their lives; he feels echoes of their desert planets and, looming incandescent, the full brunt of her delight that they might find their own way.

He heals the ankle.

**

She wakes to find him wrapped around her, like an octopus desperate for affection. She stifles a laugh at the image, allows no ripples to echo into the universe; allows no ripples into the Force beyond the cocoon they have created around themselves. Were one who was strong in the Force to peer at them now, all they'd see is two sleeping warriors, defenceless. 

He tightens his grip on her, and she allows herself a moment to think of the friends she's left behind in order to strengthen herself, to grow into the warrior she's allowed herself to become.

She thinks of Finn, her first friend; she thinks of Poe’s fond grin as he looks at Finn, and stories around fires. She thinks, for a moment, of General Organa, and moves on quickly, but it's too late.

Kylo wakens. “They're of no concern,” he says, half awake and half asleep and struggling towards anger. Struggling towards shame.

Rey rolls over; pushes him onto his back and clambers on top of him. She leans over and rests her lips against his ear. He shivers when she grasps his lobe gently between her teeth; tries not to cry out when she bites down firmly. “They created us,” she whispers, voice low, “and we completed ourselves. We grow in our power if we embrace that. “

She presses her hand against his cock, firm where it is beside her thigh. ‘I will grow stronger without you if you don't come along for the ride’ she thinks, and he hears; he meets her gaze with a remnant of despair as she lifts herself up and guides him inside of her.

He holds them close, skin to skin, as she rides him. And for the first time in a long time, the touch of his mind against hers is more passion than fear, more desire than battle, and she thinks, soon.

They will remove Snoke, and deal with the foundations of the First Order, and then maybe they'll go home.


End file.
